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by cordeliadelayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Light Angst, M/M, maybe the start of something, no one should be alone at Christmas, roasted chestnuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Snape wants is to be left alone. Harry has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alisanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for the very lovely alisanne, who gave the prompt “roasted chestnuts”. Originally posted to Livejournal in 2014.

Snow certainly wasn't an unusual occurrence in the Highlands, but snow _this_ deep and crisp and even smacked of magical interference. Snape was even less tolerant of wizards interfering with weather patterns now than he had been when he was a professor at Hogwarts, but he did have to admit that it leant a kind of beauty to the landscape.

Not that that had anything to do with why he'd sequestered himself in a small farm house in the mountains. He was hiding. Or perhaps, finally, he was taking a rest, subterfuge no longer necessary. It was certainly a strange existence.

Stranger still was his visitor, who had turned up on his doorstep with a magical bag and no apparent inclination to leave. Snape had been so surprised that his extensive and well crafted security measures had been circumvented that he'd merely stepped aside and let Harry in.

That had been two weeks ago. The fact that the snow had started just as he had arrived was not, in Snape's opinion, a coincidence. Nor was the fact that it had not let up for a single moment. If they were Muggles they would have been in severe distress days ago. But as it was Snape had provided himself with a sufficient larder to survive months of isolation if he wanted.

Which he did.

At least Harry was keeping himself to himself. He spent time in the library or unnecessarily chopping wood, or writing letters to presumably let his friends know he was safe. He'd even been considerate enough to work out when Snape preferred to eat and planned his own meals accordingly. And he had never once attempted to enter Snape's workroom.

It was infuriatingly considerate.

Snape sighed and cleaned up his breakfast things before moving towards his workroom. Harry would be preparing his own breakfast in exactly fifteen minutes.

He shook his head. Why couldn't he have been that punctual at Hogwarts?

He had considered asking Harry to leave, but something had stopped him. The certainty in Harry's eyes that he saw whenever he chanced to look, perhaps. Those eyes had caused more than a few troubles in their time.

He heard Harry's footsteps on the stairs and quickly entered his room and closed the door so that Harry couldn't see inside. Not that there was much to see. The room was completely empty except for a stool, and an easel with a half-finished painting on it.

He knew that the Muggles called it Art Therapy and Snape had been dismissive at first. But as usual Miss Granger's unsolicited advice – in the form of a paint set received whilst he was still being questioned in Azkaban – was proving helpful. She had even followed up her first gift with some books about the subject, and about PTSD and psychology and other things he had no interest in. Those he burned to keep himself warm, though not before he had read them thoroughly from cover to cover, just to ensure himself that they were, of course, completely pointless and symptomatic of all that was so wrong about Muggle society.

But he had never acknowledged her gifts, never had any communication with her whatsoever. He hadn't wanted her to have that hold over him. It was one thing for him to know that he owed her something, quite another for her to know it too.

At the end of the day he just didn't want anyone else to know what he was doing. He wanted to keep this, as he had kept so much of his existence, a secret. Perhaps living a lie was proving harder to shake off than he had anticipated.

He'd started painting the landscape at first, just letting his mind drift. Then he'd given in and painted Lily, from memory since he no longer had any photographs of her. He was glad that Harry hadn't been a guest in his house at that time. The minute he'd finished it he'd felt sick to his stomach, stabbed it with a pair of scissors and burned it in the fire.

He had to admit it had had some cathartic value, but he had vowed since that moment to only concentrate on painting what he could see, and not what he could remember. It was therapy, yes, but even so there were dark parts of his soul that could never be fixed and he would rather not give them free reign over anything he did from here on out.

He gave himself over to his work and lunch came and went without him really noticing. But by dinner time he was definitely hungry. He checked the time and realised that his normal dinner slot had passed and Harry would be in the kitchen by now.

He cursed himself as a foolish old man as he hesitated. Then, with a flourish, he stepped out of his room and into the kitchen.

“Professor,” Harry said, quite unconcerned. He held up a bowl of chestnuts. “I was just going to roast these in the fire. Would you care to join me?”

Snape frowned. “Roasted chestnuts?”

“Yes. It's a tradition Hermione has been trying to get us into. Considering.”

“Considering what?”

“That it's Christmas Eve.”

Snape blinked. “Is it?”

Harry looked a little sad. “Yes. Shall we?”

He moved towards the living room and Snape followed.

Harry quietly roasted chestnuts until there were no more, and Snape quietly watched him. After a few minutes Snape left the room and came back with a brandy bottle and two glasses.

“Why did you come here?” Snape asked. He handed over a glass of brandy and didn't twitch as his and Harry's fingers brushed together. He especially didn’t flinch when Harry repeated the movement.

“No one should be alone at Christmas,” Harry told him.

“I see,” Snape replied, although he didn't.

But as Harry moved to sit next to him, and pressed close to his side, he decided that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he found out.  



End file.
